Even The Best Fall Down Sometimes
by usa123
Summary: After the explosion in Lagos, Sam checks in on Steve. Missing scene for Civil War. No slash, no ships, no teams.


Flames billowed out of the top few floors of the Lagos business center where Crossbones' bomb had detonated.

With one hand over his mouth to filter out the acidic smoke, Sam Wilson maneuvered his way around a jet of water and continued circling the building, looking for anyone he could extract. The flames were burning too hot for even Lagos State Fire Service to enter, which meant his chance of finding any survivors at this point was little to none. He'd tried sending in Redwing but the robot seemed to be configured with a self-preservation measure; after registering just how hot the blaze was burning, it refused to fly through the window until Sam triply confirmed that it wouldn't be coming back.

Wilson took another scan with his goggles, checking for any sort of motion but came up empty. His heart heavy, he flew up to the roof and helped evacuate the few that the helicopter didn't have room to take.

When the top few floors were finally clear, Sam circled the building one more time and spotted Steve on the floor just below the fire, hand reaching for the stairwell door. After sending a quick mental apology to the owner of the building, Falcon burst through the large floor-to-ceiling window, using his wings to shield his face, and rolled to his feet next to the soldier.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, batting Steve's hand away from the door. This floor had been one of the first to be evacuated by the fire department, and for good reason: the air was thick and stifling, so heavy that Sam's lungs balked at the thought of breathing it in. Steve should have left this area long ago.

"I have to go up there," Rogers panted, reaching again for the door. "Save…" a harsh cough ripped through his chest and it took a moment before he could breathe clearly again. "...whomever I can."

Sam squinted through the smoke and instantly recognized the slightly unfocused look on the soldier's face. Steve was in shock, not surprising given the shitshow that was the past few hours.

Sam pushed Steve's hand away again then grabbed the soldier's other arm and directed him toward the window. "It's too hot, Steve. You'd die."

With a surprising amount of coordination for someone in his current mental state, Steve twisted out of Sam's grip. "I have to…try."

"You can't, Steve," Sam shouted, his tone harsh to his own ears. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to mince words. He needed to talk Steve out of this plan before he got himself hurt or killed trying to achieve the impossible. "They're gone. The fire's burning too hot. There's no one left to save." He would have been up there himself if there was the slightest chance someone had lived.

Steve shook his head, swallowing hard.

"There's nothing you can do, man," Sam said as warnings flashed in his goggles. "But that roof isn't going to hold for much longer. We have to go. Now."

Steve stared at Sam for a long moment, then, without warning, his expression sharpened and he took off for the stairwell door in a dead sprint. The very next second, Sam heard a thundering crack and launched himself at his friend, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist before flipping horizontally and flying out the way he'd entered.

Steve fought back until a loud ripping sound tore through the air and the upper levels of the building began to collapse. At that point, he sagged into Sam's grip, muttering something under his breath.

It was only when they were further away from the building that Sam was able to register the words as apologetic pleas and prayers.

* * *

"You doing alright man?" Sam asked an hour later as he walked into a nearby alleyway. The fire had just been put out and a separate crew was being called in to look for the bodies. Fortunately, the explosion had occurred over lunch time so there weren't many people in the building to begin with—not that that fact relieved them of any culpability in the least.

Steve, who was sitting on a stoop, head buried in his hands, didn't even look up as Sam sat beside him and held out a bottle of water. "You been checked out yet?" the pararescue asked a minute later when Steve still hadn't responded. As he spoke, he poked his fingers into the gap between Steve's helmet and uniform to feel for a pulse.

Steve finally responded by jerking away from Sam's touch. "I'm fine," he mumbled, very unconvincingly.

"Bull. Putting aside your mental state, I know you got thrown out of a building and fought Rumlow. At the very least, we need to make sure you're not bleeding internally."

"I'm not."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not convinced." Sam leaned forward as he put the bottle of water in Steve's line of vision, hoping to catch a glimpse of the soldier's face. Unfortunately, between the gloves and the cowl, he couldn't see anything.

Scowling, Sam sat back up and was surprised to hear Steve ask, "Nat still with Wanda?"

"Yeah, they're on their way back to the safe house."

Steve dipped his head slightly. "Good. She didn't wanna…talk to me."

"She's going through a lot right now. I wouldn't hold it against her."

Unfortunately that seemed to be the end of Steve's talkative streak. Sam allowed the silence for a few minutes, until he couldn't stand Steve's shallow and uneven breathing anymore. "Steve, you really need to get checked out," he said gently. "If not by them, at least let me look you over."

Steve _finally_ looked up from the ground and turned his head in Sam's general direction. "Okay," he mumbled as he began to take off his uniform top. Unfortunately his movements were clumsy and rigid so he was having about as much success as Sam's eighteen-month old niece with her leotard.

Without a word, Sam pushed Steve's hands away for the third time and unbuckled the shoulder harness before undoing the zippers and fasteners that held the vest of the suit together. Wilson pulled that layer off completely then unzipped the mesh underlayer, sliding it off Steve's shoulders so the protective padding puddled around his waist.

Sam let out a low whistle as a swath of brightly-colored contusions came into view. They started just below Steve's collarbone, soft purple in color, but darkened the closer they got to Steve's hips, where his skin was a solid swatch of near black. The only interruption to the gradient was a deeply violet splotch over Steve's left lower ribs.

"Steve, I really think you need to have a professional look at this," Sam said, his fingers hovering just over Steve's chest, having not yet made contact.

It took a long moment before the soldier looked up from the ground, making eye contact with Sam for the first time since he'd sat down. "I trust…you." Even though Steve's tone was flat and mechanical, Sam could tell Steve had meant his words from the slight changes in his affect. It was a win, no matter how minuscule.

Honored, Sam nodded then began his examination, starting at Steve's shoulders and working his way down. Even though his touch was light, Steve still grimaced when Sam reached his lower ribs.

"Those are definitely broken," the pararescue stated, his concern increasing with the possibility of a pneumothorax or ruptured spleen. He forced Steve to sit up straight then leaned in close to listen to his friend breathe; while the breaths themselves were quick and hitched, there was no phlegmy or wet sounds indicating a punctured lung. Sam then palpated Steve's abdomen, which elicited a soft curse from the soldier, but fortunately found no rigidity, which would have indicated internal bleeding.

Sam then shifted to look at Steve's back which thankfully held some flesh-colored patches; his temporary good mood was ruined though when he spotted the almost perfectly square contusion centered directly over Steve's spinal cord. "What happened here?" Sam demanded, ghosting over the welt as gently as he could.

"Rumlow," Steve replied dully. "Some sort of force enhancers."

Red flashed through Sam's vision and suddenly he wished the Hydra agent's body hadn't been disintegrated in the explosion. "He could have snapped your spine."

Steve didn't respond, though Sam got the feeling that's what Rumlow might have been trying for. The pararescue grit his teeth then forced himself to refocus on the examination, ignoring the rage burning through his chest.

After checking over Steve's lower body, thankfully finding no additional broken bones, Sam moved up to the soldier's head, already seeing a bruise blossoming on Steve's chin.

"I'd still get an ultrasound of your abdomen and an X-ray of your ribs," Wilson said as he reached for the buckle on Steve's cowl, "but I don't think you did any serious damage."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Steve's expression hardened and his eyes flashed angrily. "Any serious damage?" he repeated in a dangerously low tone.

The next thing Sam knew, he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. He heard a scuffle and looked to his left just in time to see Steve lash out at a metal dumpster with his palms.

"A whole floor of people is dead because of me!" the soldier exclaimed, kicking the dumpster hard enough to move it back a few feet.

In another universe, Sam would have laughed at the sight in front of him: Steve in his uniform pants and helmet, his chest bare and his sleeves dangling around his knees. Today was not that day.

"Steve—" Wilson began as he scrambled to his feet.

"Don't, Sam. I'm not just being self-deprecating here." Steve's rigid posture wilted until he was leaning heavily on the dumpster, arms braced against the edge. "He brought up Bucky...how they used to torture him...how he…" Steve fell quiet for a long moment. "…how he remembered me," he continued, his voice tight with emotion, "and how they punished him for it."

Sam could see Steve swallowing furiously, in a desperate attempt to hold it all together. After a long moment, Rogers spoke up again, this time in a much more composed tone, "…and I lost focus. Missed the vest entirely.

"I'd say it's a good thing that Wanda was there, but…" Steve swept his head left and right, his lips pressed tightly together. "That shouldn't have been on her."

"No, it shouldn't have." Sam approached Steve slowly and gingerly, reading every heave of the soldier's back or flick of his fingers. When he was in range, the pararescue gently laid his hand on Rogers' back, mindful of the injury from Rumlow. "But there's nothing we can do about it now, except prep for it in the future."

Sam let Steve contemplate that for a moment before speaking up again. "When all is said and done, we saved a helluva lot of lives today. That doesn't make those we lost hurt any less but we're not perfect— _you're_ not perfect, despite all that." As he spoke, Sam motioned to Steve's body, hoping to receive at least a micro-chuckle in response. He did see the corner of Steve's mouth lift about a half a centimeter, which was good enough for him right now. "We can't always save everyone but if we get lost in that, maybe the next time we don't save anyone."

Steve flinched, then slowly rolled his head to look at Sam and mumbled something under his breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Sam said, cupping his hand around the shell of his ear.

"You're right," Steve intoned, only slightly louder.

"It's about time you realize that," Sam replied, with a grin far too wide to be genuine. His attempt at levity was rewarded with a small snort from Steve and Sam felt some of the tightness in his chest disappear.

"C'mon," he said as he grabbed Steve's arm and led him back to the stoop. Once the soldier was sitting, Sam shed his gloves then pulled a small blue container from his belt. Steve must have recognized it, for he immediately shifted his arm forward to allow Sam better access to his broken ribs.

The container was filled with a salve that had been designed by Tony and Bruce once they'd discovered that their typical method of dealing with Steve's enhanced metabolism—drugging him with enough meds to take down an elephant—did more harm than good after a day. All forms of injected painkillers had ended up being metabolized too quickly to be of use but, after two months of R&D, they'd had come up with this topical solution which had been getting positive results.

Sure enough, as soon as Sam began to smear the salve over Steve's inflamed skin, the soldier's breaths began to even out and some of the tension disappeared from his shoulders.

"You think Rumlow was right?" he wheezed, as Sam spread the salve along his upper back. "About Bucky?"

Sam took this opportunity to educate Steve about what a lying, manipulative piece of scum Rumlow was—only he used quite a few stronger words.

Steve just nodded his agreement, his expression somber. "For Bucky's sake, I hope not," he finally said, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his left hand.

Then he straightened up so quickly Sam was sent reaching for his gauntlets.

"Yes, Maria," Steve replied, touching his earpiece. He listened for a long twenty-seven seconds then said, "We're on our way."

"What's going on?" Sam asked as he pulled various parts of his suit back on.

"They want us back at the Compound. Says there's nothing else we can do here." While speaking, Steve began to fumble with his own uniform, trying to slide his arms back into the sleeves without moving his upper body at all. Before Steve could make any existing injury worse, Sam stepped in to hold the sleeves as close to Steve's shoulders as possible.

Wilson knew better than to ask if Steve was going to be okay because he wasn't—he was going to forever be changed by what had happened today, the lives that were lost, the position Wanda was put in—but, as Sam watched Steve shift back into his Captain America persona, he had no doubt the soldier was already planning ways to better prepare his new team for the next battle, in hopes it would prevent a tragedy like this from occurring again.

* * *

 **A/N: This didn't fit into the story at all but my headcanon is that, a few months into their stay in Wakanda, Steve is going to get a package, no return address, that contains a small pot of the salve. And that's how Steve knows that things aren't perfect between him and Tony, probably never will be again, but they'd both be up to working on it, should a situation rise where they're both needed again (ie: _Infinity War)_.**

 **Disclaimer: I am no way undervaluing the loss of life in Lagos, I just wanted a piece where Sam helps Steve move into a sort of acceptance, so he can be in a healthy enough state of mind to give the same advice to Wanda a few days later.**

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


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